


That Which Remains

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Reincarnation, bystander fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos was killed by Hunters on Holy Ground, and Duncan's heart has never stopped hurting. Then, one day, he meets a young boy who looks hauntingly familiar.  Can it be Methos? But how?</p>
<p>Told through the eyes of his love and companion, Norah, who is struggling to understand Immortality and the haunting past that has wounded Duncan's soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Which Remains

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2003.

“Methos?”

The word escaped from his lips, barely coming into existence before fading into nothing. Was it an epitaph? A name? A place?

“Duncan? Is something wrong?” Norah touched her lover’s arm. Today had been about setting old ghosts to rest, not about stirring them up.

Duncan turned to look at her, his expression at once bleak and hopeful. “No. I’m fine. It’s just, that boy….”

“Boy?” she asked, confused. They had come here to look at Tessa Noel’s sculptures. She had enjoyed hearing Duncan’s stories about his life then and the interesting people that he had known. She was still coming to terms with his unique nature. Although her love for him had been too great and steady for her to do anything but love him and stay with him, the notion of immortality was still new and there were still many things that needed explaining. Or explaining again, she admitted to herself, since her mind generally boggled at the things that Duncan tried to tell her. 

“I’ll be right back, Norah. Please. Just wait for a minute.” Duncan was speaking to his companion, but his eyes were riveted to the teenager standing a few meters away.

She nodded and watched him approach the boy. He was fairly lean and gangly, but boys usually were at that age. His hair was a dark brown and needed a cut badly. He had a nice face, but his nose was a little on the classic side, and she hoped he would grow into it a bit more. She wondered what a teenage boy could possibly find of interest in a museum on a fine Saturday afternoon. 

She edged a little closer, only slightly ashamed at eavesdropping, but too curious and concerned not to. Something had caught Duncan’s attention and she had never seen him so focused and distracted at the same time.

“So, you like this sculpture?” Duncan asked, attention darting to one of Tessa’s pieces.

The boy startled for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. It’s beautiful.” He reached out a hand and then stopped. “I wish we were allowed to touch.” He paused a moment, then asked, “You like it too?”

“Very much. I knew the artist.”

A moment of shock and joy passed over the boy’s features. “Tessa Noel? You knew her?”

Duncan nodded.

“That’s great!” the boy said, enthused. “I came just wanting to look. I never expected to meet someone she knew. Are you with the museum?”

Duncan shook his head. “No. Just an old friend.” Duncan extended a hand. “I’m Duncan MacLeod.”

The boy looked perplexed for a moment and then reached forward to shake the hand. “I’m David.”

“It’s nice to meet you, David.” He smiled and motioned to Norah. “Norah and I were just about to have a late lunch at the Museum’s Café. Care to join us? We could talk about the sculptures. I could tell you about Tessa.”

David looked at his feet for a moment, obviously unsettled about the invitation, one hand clutching at his rucksack. “I brought lunch. I’ll be here, if you wanted to come back after you’re done.”

Duncan considered for a moment. “Our treat. It isn’t often that I meet someone so interested in Tessa’s work.”

David smiled and acquiesced. “Sure.”

After a quick introduction, the three went to the café and were soon settled at a table with drinks and dinner on the way.

“Do you go to school here in Seacouver?” Norah asked, once the bustle of ordering had turned into silence. Duncan seemed unusually tongue-tied. He was watching David with the oddest expression and she wondered again. Duncan made friends as easily as breathing, but this sudden overture was almost uncharacteristic.

“Yes,” David replied. “Seacouver District High. I’m a Junior.”

“Hmm.” Norah guessed, “That makes you sixteen?”

He shook his head. “Fifteen. I got moved up a year in elementary school.” He flushed a bit then, obviously embarrassed, but proud.

Duncan made a small sound and reached for his water. He was noticeably pale. If Norah didn’t know better, she would have thought he was becoming ill.

“So, what are you doing here this afternoon?” Norah asked when it became apparent that Duncan seemed to find conversation unattainable.

“I came to see Tessa Noel’s sculptures. I have a report due for school and I wanted to see them for real. I’ve always liked her pieces.” His face became wistful and his eyes got a very faraway look.

Norah couldn’t help but notice his eyes, suddenly. They seemed such a strange tumble of green and brown. She knew she was staring and being impolite, but she just couldn’t look away.

“They remind me of something,” David continued, voice low, as if he were speaking more to himself, testing out the words even as they formed. “I don’t know what. But something important, something I’ve forgotten.” He dropped his gaze then, suddenly a teenager again. “That’s stupid I know. I just like them, you know?”

The food arrived then and they were busy eating for a few minutes, speaking only a few words here and there.

David glanced at his watch somewhere towards the end. “Oh, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go. My Dad is picking me up. We’ve got to be somewhere this afternoon.” He grabbed for his rucksack.

Duncan placed a gentle hand on his wrist. “We’ll walk with you. I’d like to meet your father. Besides, we didn’t get a chance to talk about Tessa. Perhaps we could arrange a time to meet again?”

David nodded uncertainly and waited while Duncan took care of the bill.

They strolled towards the front entrance to the museum, where a car was waiting in the circular drive where visitors were allowed to drop off and pick up. A tall man was leaning against the car, arms crossed.

He looked up and caught sight of David and called out. “There you are, David! I thought I was going to have to come in and get you!” Then he realized that the extra people weren’t just exiting at the same time as his son, that they were actually accompanying him. 

Duncan extended his hand and introduced himself. He seemed recovered from whatever had bothered him back at the restaurant and it took him only a minute to completely charm David’s father. Another minute later and William Gaothaire was agreeing that David could visit tomorrow and interview Duncan about Tessa Noel. Norah just stood by and smiled charmingly, but she felt slightly alarmed. Something was definitely not right.

Duncan made friends easily and quickly, but this was something else. And what he wanted with the company of a fifteen year old boy, she could only guess at.

A handshake later, and William and David piled into their car and drove off.

Duncan stood on the steps, watching them until the car was out of sight.

“Duncan?” She asked quietly, “What’s going on?”

He turned to her then. “Home first. Please.”

It was a very quiet ride back home. 

When they arrived home, Duncan went to his study and retrieved a box, one of those memory boxes designed to protect bits and pieces of nostalgia. They sat down on the couch. He rummaged about for a bit and then brought forth a photograph. He looked at it for a long moment then handed it to Norah.

The edges were tattered and she could tell that it had been taken at least twenty years ago. One of the men in the picture was older, with a salt and pepper beard to match his hair. Norah recognized the gruff, but friendly man, as one of Duncan’s friends. They had often gone to his blues bar and listened to the music, although sometimes the blues had tended to make Duncan become maudlin. Norah’s friendship with Joe was in transition, having had Duncan only really explain the genesis for their friendship recently. Previously, she had seen him as a friendly business owner, but now she regarded him as a confidant of Duncan’s. They were still hesitant around each other, unsure what ground to tread. She wondered what the bluesman saw when he looked at her, a woman mired steadfast in the midst of middle age, and spending her time as a companion to an old, old man concealed by youth.

It was the other man in the picture that caused her to catch her breath. Dark haired and green eyed, it was David from the Museum. Except, he was grown up. At least somewhere in his mid to late twenties.

“I only have the one,” Duncan explained. “He didn’t like to have his photo taken. Well, none of us do, really.”

She couldn’t decide what to ask first, so many questions swirled around her brain. This was one of those Immortal things that Duncan had so patiently explained about. Except, she’d never had to deal so directly with any of it before. Things had always been amazingly quiet and immortality to her was that Duncan wouldn’t grow old or become sick or die from some stupid, senseless accident. It wasn’t about those other things he so calmly and quietly recounted. Things she didn’t even want to think about. 

Finally she said, “He’s gone?”

Duncan just nodded. She could see his hands clenching and just knew that whoever this was in the photo had been very important to him.

“Who was he?”

Duncan just gave her a look which was so sad that it made her heart ache. “His name was Methos.”

Oh. The word that he’d uttered in the museum. “He looks just like David. Do you think he could be his son?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Duncan told her. “We can’t have children. But he looked so much….” Duncan let his words trail off and he looked at the photo again.

“He was Immortal, too?”

Duncan laughed then, as if she’d made a big joke. “He was Immortal.”

“He was your friend.” She made it a statement. There was something here that she couldn’t quite grasp yet, and that Duncan seemed reluctant to reveal. 

Duncan nodded and then looked at her, gauging and studying. Norah could see when he made a decision.

“We were lovers,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, unsure what to say. She’d known that Duncan had many other lovers before her; she’d just always thought they were strictly women. Norah felt a slow blush form, ashamed of her assumption and feeling her perception of the world shift. Duncan’s amazing ability to care had been one of the things she had admired so much, she should have known he would have cared for many people during his lifetime. And if he could look past their age difference, why wouldn’t he have been able to look past someone’s gender camouflage and seen the soul inside? She laid her hand on his forearm, determined to make it clear that he need not worry about his past. “Well, that’s okay. Really. I knew you’d had other loves before me.”

He smiled very sadly, running his fingers over the photo, as if he could conjure forth his past lover.

“How did it happen?” Her voice felt strangely hesitant. Perhaps Duncan didn’t want to talk about this? He’d spoken of many other lost loves, but never this one before. Judging by Joe’s age in the picture, it could not have been too many years ago. She had met Duncan only seven years ago, so it was very possible that this was the love that preceded her.

Duncan didn’t say anything for a long, long time. Finally he spoke. “They killed him.” He put the photo back into the box and closed the lid. “Hunters. Renegade Watchers. They killed him in a church. Just like they killed Darius.”

She didn’t know who Darius was, but she knew about holy ground. How awful. He should have been safe there. 

Duncan went on, more speaking to himself than to her. Norah felt her gut wrench. He’d never spoken about this in all the time they’d known each other. He’d hidden this terrible grief. “They shot him and killed him.”

Duncan looked at her then and she could see all the misery in his face.

“And the worst part,” he whispered. “The worst part is that I wasn’t close enough. It was all lost. Gone.” He pressed his hands to his chest. “Nothing. And there was no one to hunt down to take it back from. No way to ever get it back.”

“Get what back?” Norah felt as if she couldn’t quite keep up. The layers of issues, the terrible loss, were still buffeting about her, making her feel dense.

“His Quickening,” Duncan answered.

She just nodded and leaned forward and hugged him, enfolding him in her arms as she had done her own children so many years ago when the dark things in life came. When the worst had seemed to have passed, she pulled away and looked at him. This was an old wound, but it was still very fresh. “None of that explains David’s uncanny resemblance to your friend, though.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He frowned. “I wonder.” Duncan ran his fingers along her jaw and curled the pads under her chin. “I need to call Joe, I think.” He stood and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head before grabbing the phone and disappearing into his study.

She waited for a minute, but it was obviously going to be a long call. She went to bed instead and didn’t notice until morning that Duncan had never joined her.

The next day, Duncan could barely keep himself still. He spent half his time waiting by the window, gazing out on the driveway, as if by magic he could make a car appear. They had just finished lunch when there came a knock on the door. Duncan motioned Norah down and went to answer it.

She had expected to see David and his father, but it wasn’t them. Instead, the other man from the picture stood framed in the doorway. Now that she had seen the picture, Norah could see that Joe Dawson had aged very well, although today the long years seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. 

Duncan helped him through the door and to the living room, where a high backed, sturdy chair had been tucked in next to the couch.

“This better be important, MacLeod.” He looked at Duncan then turned to Norah. “It’s very nice to see you again, Norah. It’s been a while since you’ve been to the bar.”

“Hello, Joe. I know, we should visit more often, but you know how time seems to get away with you.”

“That I do.”

Before they could continue the pleasant greetings, there came a knock at the door.

Duncan stiffened immediately, but went to the door and invited the expected guests in.

William came in first, shaking hands with Duncan and chatting as if they’d known each other for years instead of having only met for a few minutes the day before. Right behind him was David, looking impossibly shy and friendly all at the same time. Now that she’d seen the photo, the resemblance was even more disturbing. 

Norah felt Joe struggle to his feet next to her. She pulled her gaze away from Duncan greeting David and turned to Joe.

Joe was staring, his mouth half open. “Oh my God.” He spoke so softly that she almost missed it.

Duncan turned around and looked at Joe pointedly. Then he said, “William, David, this is a friend of mine. Joe Dawson. He’s visiting for the day.”

“Very nice to meet you.” William stepped forward and they exchanged a quick handshake. 

David had hung back a bit, obviously discomfited by an extra person in the room. William nudged him in the back.

David stepped forward too, then, with a hand out. Joe took the hand, perhaps pressing it a moment too long before releasing it. Then he sat back down in his chair.

It took a few minutes to get things settled. Duncan and David took over the dining room table, David clutching a notebook and pencil in front of him as they talked. 

William, Joe, and Norah sat in the living room. After all the small talk had been exhausted, they all just stared at each other. 

Finally, Joe broke the silence. “You’ve a very handsome son, Mr. Gaothaire. Does he take after your wife more than you, though?”

“William, please,” the man insisted. “I wish I could say so. But, no David’s adopted.”

Norah caught a glint of something in Joe’s eye. Joe continued, “Ah. Some of the best people I’ve ever known were adopted. Something about being free to make your own destiny. You must be starting to think about colleges.”

Norah noticed a shadow cross William’s face. “Yes. Of course.”

Joe hadn’t missed the look, either. He was one keen observer, she would give him that. “You don’t say that with authority. Isn’t he doing well in school? He seems very bright.”

That proud father look came back to William’s face. “Oh, yeah. He’s a genius. Smart as a whip. All advanced level courses. I know it’s too soon to tell, but I think he’ll be valedictorian.” 

“Oh? What do they study these days in school?” Norah asked, not wanting to let the conversation stall. She kept one eye on Duncan and David. David had lowered the notebook shield and put down his pencil. He was leaning in and absorbing everything that Duncan was saying. They looked to be enjoying their conversation.

“Oh, everything. Reading, writing, ‘rithmatic.” William chuckled at his own words. “David’s taking some specialty language courses and history courses. Seacouver University has a program where they actually send their college professors into the school and teach college level courses. David’s taking some of those.”

“Languages?” Joe leaned forward. “When I went to school all they had was French. And I was terrible at it. They started us too late. It’s hard to learn a new language as an adult.”

William practically beamed. “Oh sure. David’s got a special gift for languages, though. He picks them up like a native. You should hear him chatter away.”

And so the conversation went.

It hardly seemed like an hour had passed when finally William looked at this watch and called over to the table. 

“Hey, David. Time to go. We’ve got that appointment.”

Norah could practically see the enthusiasm get doused in David’s eyes. 

Duncan must have noticed too because he retrieved two of his business cards, scrawled a phone number on the back, and gave one to David and one to William. “I’ve got a dojo downtown. Feel free to call anytime.”

David looked at the card, then back to Duncan. “A real dojo?”

Duncan nodded, and she could just see the amusement in him. Something had touched him.

David glanced at his father, whose features had become cloudy, then back to Duncan. “Maybe after school, I could stop by? Just to look,” David clarified and his father stopped looking stricken.

“Anytime,” Duncan confirmed.

They all made the departing motions and soon William and David had vanished out the door.

From the window, Duncan watched them pull out of the driveway. When he finally turned around, he looked straight at Joe.

“Damn it, MacLeod. What the Hell was that?” Joe asked.

“You tell me,” Duncan answered back, just as vehemently. He pointed to the window. “He looks just like him. His voice is almost exactly the same. He smells….” Duncan spent a moment composing himself. “He moves like him. Except, that it can’t be him. This kid is just fifteen.”

“Fifteen? You’re sure?”

Duncan nodded tightly.

“Why?” Norah found herself asking. “What about fifteen?”

Duncan didn’t seem able to answer, but Joe did.

“That’s how long since he died.” Joe swiveled his attention back to Duncan. “Mac, did you feel anything? Anything at all? Could he be….” The question hung there in the air.

Norah didn’t even know what they were talking about.

“No,” Duncan replied, his voice husky with some unexplained feeling that she would have called disappointment except that it was tinged with something else that was unrecognizable. “No, he’s not.”

“He’s not what?” Norah was beginning to feel like a parrot.

Joe looked to Duncan, surprise on his face. “She doesn’t know?”

Duncan ignored Joe and came over and took her hands. “She knows. It’s just that I’ve been out of the Game for a while. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.” He focused on her again, then. “David isn’t an Immortal. And he’ll never be one.”

“Oh. Ah.” Good grief. Norah chastised herself; she was just full of interesting things to say, wasn’t she? “What does that mean?”

Duncan pulled away. “It means it isn’t him. It can’t be.”

Joe harrumphed. “Then, why’d you ask me out here, MacLeod? Thought I needed the fresh air? Do you think this is just some uncanny resemblance? Some strange coincidence? No. I don’t buy that. And neither do you. There’s a connection. You just have to find it.” Joe struggled to his feet. “I’ve gotta get going. Keep in touch. Let me know if you need something.”

And with that Joe left. 

Norah wanted to press Duncan further, there were obviously parts to the story that she wasn’t aware of. And the uncanny resemblance of David to Duncan’s lost friend had settled as a cold streak in her bones, blowing an ill wind into the life that she and Duncan had settled into. But she knew that the issue was something that needed to be let go of for now; she could see the rawness of it in Duncan’s face. There would be a time and a place for them to discuss it.

The next few days were very quiet. Duncan didn’t return home from the dojo until close to seven each night, after dark had already settled. 

Norah sat at her kitchen table, a cup of tea cooling to tepid. She glanced at the clock again. Not even another five minutes had passed. She was tired of waiting at home for a companion that never came. The loneliness loomed off to the side, where she had discarded it the day that she had discovered joy and brightness again. She had existed for too many years, wearing black figuratively every day and an invisible coal colored veil, raising her children until they were all grown and she had stood in her empty home and wondered who the woman in the mirror was. Too soon a widow, too long alone, she thought, and then wondered if she was describing herself or Duncan.

She wrapped a hand around the porcelain cup, but the warmth had already fled. A widow and a widower, she mused, making house together and keeping at bay the unattainable wishes for life to have been different.

She knew he was down at the dojo, waiting – just waiting – for some gangly teenager to take him up on the offer of friendship that had been extended. An offer that had been born of grief, loss, and the impossible desire to have even a façade of the lost, precious thing returned. She recognized the quiet desperation to pretend that if you truly wished hard enough, then one day you would open your eyes and the nightmare wouldn’t be true any longer.

She supposed she should have angry and jealous. They had a life together now, and a steady and deep love between them. Except, she admitted to herself, that if she had been offered her Henry back, she would have stood with open arms at the very gates to the underworld. Who would not?

But if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

Norah rinsed her cup in the sink and went to collect her coat. It was the time and the place for them to talk.

She drove down to the dojo then, hardening her heart the entire time. This would not be an easy conversation.

But when she got down there, the lights were all on. Duncan and David were in the middle of the floor and Duncan was patiently going through the movements of one his katas, those lovely dance-like motions that had caught her eye when they’d first started to date.

She stood at the doorway, watching and unnoticed, for a long time.

David was thin, but he wasn’t the gangly youth that she had first thought him to be. He followed Duncan’s movements with little trouble, as if he had also been doing the same forms for many years.

Duncan softly called out instructions, and his voice was so expansive that she found herself blinking back sudden tears.

“Hello there, Mrs. Andersen,” a voice called from the corner near the staircase. 

Norah gave a little wave and went to sit down near William, who had ensconced himself into the little nook. “Please, call me Norah.”

“Norah, of course. Call me William.” He nodded towards his son. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Duncan loves to teach.”

“I can tell.” He focused on her. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that David met you at the museum the other day. I don’t know what the two of you said, but he’s been so happy this past week. Even when the medication made him too ill for us to make it until now, it was as if just the looking forward was enough.”

“Medication?” 

William looked down at his hands. “Yes. His medication.” He paused for a long moment. “David’s very sick. He has a disease.” William pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment as if to gather strength. “A disorder of the immune system. It’s in remission, mostly. The drugs help, but the side effects are sometimes difficult to deal with.”

“Does Duncan know?” She gazed back at the pair on the floor, faintly horrified at how close death seemed to be hovering to one who was so young.

William shook his head. “No. David doesn’t want him to know. He’s afraid that if….” William’s voice trailed off.

“He’s afraid that Duncan will treat him like he’s fragile. That Duncan won’t talk to him, he’ll treat him differently,” she said the words very softly.

William nodded. “Yeah. It’s happened before. Friends of his are afraid to be around him. Treat him like he’s going to break at any moment. I know this is a lot to ask, but please, don’t tell Duncan yet. David hasn’t been this happy in a long time. And I just can’t take it away from him.”

“But, Duncan needs to know. What if something should happen?”

“I’m here,” William said simply. “I worry enough for three or four people. He’s out of my sight at school, as it is. And,” he said as he checked his watch, “it’s time to go anyway. We’ve got a doctor’s appointment.” He called out into the room. “David! Time to go, buddy.”

“Just a minute, Dad!” David called back, instantly losing his concentration and his form.

Norah watched as David and Duncan conferred for a minute, obviously making plans for another session. David leaned in, eager for the attention and contact, pleased that someone wasn’t treating him with kid gloves. Duncan smiled, indulgent and content to take what small measure of comfort could be gleaned.

Norah watched David and William leave, debating with herself. She felt a little guilty, but she wouldn’t tell Duncan. She had seen the joy is his face, the happiness in his eyes. She didn’t want to be the one to change Duncan’s perceptions and reactions. That was something that David needed to do. It was David’s decision. As long as his father was there, standing lifeguard, then it was okay for Duncan to be in the dark just a little. She felt the burden settle itself into her bones, ready for the long haul. 

Duncan came forward and enclosed her in an embrace, kissing her fervently. “Hey, sweetheart. I missed you. I should have called. I’m glad you came down on your own.”

“You are?” Thoughts of the conversation she’d planned on having all fluttered away.

“Of course. This calls for a celebration. Let’s go out for dinner.” With another wonderful kiss, he pulled her out the door.

That’s how it went from there. 

Usually, there was at least one day a week that David and William were able to meet up with Duncan at the dojo. If they were very fortunate, there would be two days. Whenever they were able to make it, Duncan and Norah would go out to dinner and oftentimes a movie. It seemed to Norah that the presence of David, even as nothing but friend and reminder of another, buoyed Duncan’s spirit. He was more lighthearted than she had ever known him to be, which surprised her. She had not realized before that although as tender and caring as he had been, that such a loss had buried itself so deeply into his marrow.

Unfortunately, David and William were very busy with their own lives, friends, and commitments. Which really should have been translated into sometimes David was just too sick to come. This was the worst because they’d call to let Duncan know not to expect them, which practically broke his heart. And since somehow David never seemed to gather the courage to admit to Duncan that he was ill, Duncan never knew that it was not just adolescent whimsy and activities that kept David from his company.

Norah had debated with herself after the second session, when it became clear that David wouldn’t tell and William wouldn’t either, if just because seeing his son so elated was rare. It seemed that the kata exercises weren’t hurting, David never had any episodes, as William referred to them, while he was with Duncan, so Norah let the issue continue to idle.

William had at some point offered to pay for the private lessons, but Duncan had refused. Norah wondered that William never found it odd that his son and Duncan would have formed such a friendship. To any other eye, it might have seemed that David had adopted another father, except that they didn’t react to each other in that way. Duncan treated David like an equal and sometimes, Norah had to laugh at the image but it was accurate, more like a revered grandmother than a teenaged boy. She’d tried to broach the subject once, while a session was ongoing, Duncan and David stretching limbs through the air in front of them.

“Secondary father figure?” William had laughed and sobered quickly. “No. I suppose I should be bothered, maybe jealous. But, I don’t see it. David said to me the other day that he was glad he’d met Duncan because with his other friends he always felt he had to play a part, but that Duncan never minds when he says something odd.” William’s eyes misted over. “David was such a strange little kid, growing up. He taught himself to read at the age of three, you know. And it was more like he had to remember how to read, rather than learn it. He was off the charts when we had him tested. It made it hard for him to make friends, he’d want to talk about something and they’d have no idea. Sometimes his mother and I had no idea what he was going on about. His closest friends always seemed to be his teachers, other adults. So I don’t suppose I find it odd that he and Duncan are friends.”

“I’m sure him being ill doesn’t help.”

William closed his eyes for a brief moment. “No. He missed a lot of school before we figured out what was wrong with him. And then a lot more school until we started to have a handle on it.” He let out a long, slow breath. “It’s like some double sided curse. He started getting sick just about the time we started to realize how smart he really was. I’ve always connected the two, although I know there isn’t any correlation.” He clenched a fist. “Sometimes I wish there was a way to trade it. Just a few IQ points for a chance to be healthy. What good does it do for him to be able to work sums in his head, to quote Shakespeare line for line from memory, conjugate verbs in five languages, if he doesn’t live long enough to enjoy life? If he can’t even do some of the simplest things that the rest of us take for granted?”

Norah inhaled sharply, aching for the hurt she heard in this man’s voice. “I thought you said he was in remission?” How sick was David? They rarely discussed it, tending instead to concentrate on the pleasant illusion of normalcy.

“He is,” Brain assured hastily. “He is. For now. There’s just so much we don’t know.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “The first few doctors we went to said he wouldn’t survive past his seventh birthday. They didn’t reckon on David’s will to survive.”

Norah gave a small smile and glanced back at Duncan. She felt as if a tight band encircled her heart. What would he do if David did become ill? If he died so young? She wasn’t happy with her dark thoughts, but they were there anyway. 

A few weeks later, Norah was surprised to find both William and Joe Dawson present in the dojo while Duncan and David once again meditated through various forms of katas. William was, as usual, tucked away by the stairs. Joe was sitting in the office area, cane in hand, watching the activity with a sad, pensive look on his face.

Norah waved at William to let him know she’d double back in a moment and then went to the office to greet Joe. “Hello,” she said and pulled another chair out.

“Hello, Norah,” Joe replied. “Isn’t that a sight?”

“Yes. They seem to enjoy each other’s company very much.”

Joe chuckled. “So they do.”

Norah studied Joe’s face for a moment and then decided just to be blunt. “Is something going on, Joe? Your being here is a little unexpected.”

Joe looked at her sadly. “Mac asked me to come by. He’s going to show David a sword. I don’t know what he expects will happen.” 

“A sword?”

“Methos’ sword.”

“The Immortal that David resembles?”

“Yes. Mac was going to bury Methos’ sword with him, but at the last moment, he changed his mind. He kept it. And Lord only knows what he plans to do with it on some day in the future. May I be long gone when that day comes.”

“What do you mean?” Norah wondered what the ominous words meant. 

Joe didn’t answer the question, instead he switched topics. “Do you know that Mac used to live here before?” 

Norah shook her head. “No. I thought it had always just been storage space.”

“Upstairs there’s a loft. He lived there after Tessa died and while he and Methos were still flirting with each other, and then later when they’d finally come together. He closed it up when Methos died. Just left it as is and walked away.” Joe paused to watch the occupants out on the floor again, taking a long time before he spoke again. “He hasn’t been up there in years. But he went up there today. To find the sword. And I swear, he brought it down and it looked like it had been kept and oiled every day since then.”

Norah’s eyes swept the room, catching on a closed oblong box waiting on the desk. “Joe….”

“He doesn’t forget. And he doesn’t let go.” Joe leaned heavily on the cane in his hand.

Before Norah could answer, both Duncan and David had entered the office. She hadn’t even realized that they had stopped their workout. Joe’s head snapped up, his gaze focused on the scene about to play out before him. 

“I wanted to show you something,” Duncan began, resting one hand on the lid of the glossy box. “It belongs to a friend of mine. I’m just keeping it for him for a time.”

Norah covered her mouth with her hand, the air suddenly seemed dry and her throat was tight.

“Really? What?” David asked, curiously looking at the box, sweeping his eyes up and down. “What friend?”

“An old friend.” Duncan smiled as he said the words, the joke an old one. He opened the box to reveal a broadsword resting among folds of silk. “It’ll need to be sharpened, of course, when he comes to get it.”

“It’s perfect,” David breathed and reached out a tentative hand. He stopped, looking to Duncan for permission. “May I?”

“Yes,” Duncan said. “I think he would have liked it if you wanted to look it over.”

David grasped the handle and pulled it out of the box, tested the weight of it, and studied it from tip to base. “I would never have loaned it to you, if it were mine,” he declared. “I’d have kept it with me always.”

“I know,” Duncan said gruffly, his voice dark with emotion.

David looked at him, concerned and thoughtful. He gently returned the sword to the box. “Duncan? Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Duncan pressed one hand to the pommel of the sword. “It isn’t on loan. I’m just safekeeping it.”

David nodded as if he understood. He looked up and groaned. “Dad’s pointing at his watch again. Time to go. See you next week?”

“Yes.” Duncan watched his guests until they vanished through the doorway. Then he dropped into a chair, one hand still pressed to the sword. 

“Jeez, Mac,” Joe finally said. 

Duncan looked up, his eyes dark and unreadable. “He didn’t recognize it, Joe. I thought that if he saw it….”

Joe nodded sagely. “I know, Mac. I was hoping for the same thing. Every time I look at him, I have to remind myself that he isn’t Methos.”

“I keep waiting,” Duncan slowly admitted. “To hear him say something, anything, so I could say, here is the evidence. It must be him. But it isn’t. He looks exactly like him. He’s smart, he’s funny, sometimes he is annoying as Hell, but that’s all there is. I kept thinking that maybe it was Methos come back to me, hidden deep inside, and I had only to look hard enough to uncover him. But the illusion stops here.”

“Illusion, Mac?” Joe asked quietly.

“Yes. Constructed by me.” Duncan looked at Norah and gave a small, sad smile. “He’s a precocious, exasperating young man, but he isn’t Methos. And I need to stop wanting him to be.”

“Good enough, Mac. Good enough.” Joe stood up and began to leave.

“Joe.” Duncan’s voice was rough.

Joe stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“This doesn’t change anything, you know.”

“I know.”

Norah waited until Joe had gone before turning to Duncan. She placed a hand on his arm. “Duncan?”

Duncan caressed the side of her face with one hand. “Let’s go home.”

“Of course.”

After that, things were pretty routine. She and Duncan settled back into their comforting, steady life. They held each other at night and it seemed to her that the ghosts were in abeyance, both hers and his. Duncan and David still met at the dojo and it seemed to Norah that Duncan was able to enjoy their friendship for what it was alone, and not as some hollow adjunct from the past. 

Then, after a few months had passed, she arrived at the dojo expecting William and David to be there and instead found Joe Dawson. Damn, Norah thought, noting the absence. She hoped David wasn’t very sick this time.

“Hello,” she said as she entered the office and realized a moment later that something was wrong. Joe was sitting in the chair across the desk from Duncan and they were glaring at each other.

Joe glanced at Norah, greeting her pleasantly, before refocusing his attention on Duncan. “Mac. Listen to reason.”

“It changes nothing.” Duncan’s voice was rough, barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“What’s going on?” she asked, worried and curious at the same time.

Duncan paced around, looking at and touching the bibelots in the room, although he certainly wasn’t actually seeing them.

“Vengeance,” Joe supplied. 

“Retribution,” Duncan corrected.

Joe shifted in his chair, watching Duncan for a long moment before turning back to Norah. “Someone has resurfaced.”

Duncan’s eye flashed. “I will deal with him, Joe.” He glanced up at Norah and she was shocked at the pain swirling there, the terrible longing and sadness. “Excuse me. I need to retrieve something….” Duncan was out the door, striding away, using the stairs to go to the floors above where so many things were in storage.

“Oh, Christ,” Joe muttered, turning his head and staring into the ceiling. “Mac.”

“Joe?” she asked. “I don’t understand. What is going on? Please.” She sat down in the chair next to him. “Please.”

Joe nodded but didn’t speak for a long time. “You know about the Watchers, yes?”

Norah nodded. “Duncan said we were being watched. Sometimes he points them out to me.” She shivered. “It’s creepy, but they don’t do anything and Duncan seems to accept it. I keep the curtains closed a lot. He says they aren’t interested so much in our life at home, just whether he has to….” Her voice faltered for a moment.

“Take challenges,” Joe finished for her. “Yeah. For the most part we don’t give a flying rat’s ass what you eat for breakfast on Thursdays. And Mac hasn’t taken a challenge in a long time now.”

“We?” Norah felt her stomach flip flop. 

“Yeah, we.” Joe grimaced as he gave the confession. “I’m retired now. But I used to be Mac’s Watcher.”

“That’s how you knew his friend?” She wanted to say lover, because Joe the Watcher would know, but she chose the other word since surely they had been friends just as much as lovers.

“Yeah, I knew him. We were friends before Mac and I started talking. Before Mac met him, too, for that matter.” Joe continued the explanation, going back before they were sidetracked. “The Watchers. We take an oath to never interfere, to only record.” He laughed again, then, and smiled sheepishly. “Needless to say I broke that oath.” He sobered. “But so did others. And they weren’t so much interested in being friendly. Hunters.”

Norah nodded, remembering what Duncan had told her. Hunters had killed Methos.

Joe scanned her face, obviously noting that she knew the term. “Yeah. They were killing Immortals. They killed Darius, an Immortal priest who hadn’t been off holy ground in a very, very long time. We thought we’d shut them down, stopped them all. But years later, they started again. Mac and Methos were settled down by then, mostly out of the Game. The Hunters had killed a few Immortals, all antisocial semi-retired types, in Canada and were working their way down here. The rest of the Watchers were trying to stop them, but the whole thing was hush-hush. We’d almost had an Immortal-Watcher war over this. No one wanted the Immortals to know what was going on. No one wanted Mac to know what was going on, so I was purposely kept in the dark.”

“And they came for Methos?” Norah said, her voice tight.

“They came for both Mac and Methos. But Mac wasn’t where he was supposed to be. That damn car of his had broken down. But they lured Methos to a church.”

“Holy ground,” Norah whispered. “He was safe there.”

Joe frowned. “From another Immortal, yes. But an Immortal can not kill on holy ground. Methos wouldn’t have been able to defend himself.”

Norah closed her eyes, imagining the scene. She barely heard Joe’s gentle voice, explaining the whole thing. Methos standing in the church, expecting Duncan to appear at any second. Shadowy figures creeping up on him. No warning buzz, nothing to indicate he was in any danger. A gun was fired. The bullet took him in the chest, giving him a precious few seconds to understand what was happening. Perhaps a desperate attempt to scrabble away, even as his lifeblood left him, spreading out across the church’s stones. The final, traitorous blow. The Quickening.

Norah felt herself come back, the images receding. She’d never seen a Quickening. It wasn’t something she could imagine. “Duncan said he was too far away. That the Quickening was lost.”

Joe nodded. “He was. A mortal took Methos’ head.” 

“Did Duncan know? When it happened?”

Joe assessed her shrewdly. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask him. He’s never told me.” He paused and finally added, “I think so. I think he felt it.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I would have thought the entire city should have known when it happened.”

“Why?”

Joe frowned, his voice was strained. “Jeez. Mac left a lot for me to explain, didn’t he?” He looked above him and shook his head. “Methos was very old. The older an Immortal is, the more powerful the Quickening. It should have taken out the church and the block it was on, at the least. Quickenings are raw energy, power. They tend to cause things to explode and catch on fire.”

“But no damage to the church?” Norah tried to wrap her understanding around this. These kinds of things really should come with scorecards. “Where did it go, then? Perhaps he was not as old as he said he was.”

Joe frowned at her. “No, he was that old. Where did it go?” He rubbed at his chin, thinking for a long moment. “MacLeod found out, of course, what had happened.” His voice was very quiet.

Norah put a hand to her face, suddenly starting to understand the point of the story. “Vengeance.”

Joe nodded. “Yes. All but one he found. And he looked for years for that last one.”

“You’ve found him now?”

Joe nodded. “Yes.”

“And Duncan wants to go after him. To finish it. Closure,” Norah said. 

“Mac has very little forgiveness in the matter of murder.”

“But, the police—“ 

“Useless in this instance.” Joe shifted in the chair. “Mac wants to go after him. This thing with that boy hasn’t helped at all. It’s kept Mac dwelling on what he lost.” Joe smiled at her. “Instead of what he has to live for.”

Norah waved a hand. Duncan did not give up old debts just because he took on new ones. That was one of the things she loved about him, his dedication and compassion and integrity. “You don’t want him to do this.”

“No. I don’t. We found the man because he’s in the hospital. Dying of old age and cancer. He hasn’t got maybe two months. Mac doesn’t need to add to his burden. The deed will be done soon enough.”

Norah shook her head. “Not for Duncan. He’d see it as having failed.”

“Damn.” Joe sagged in the chair.

“He’s here in Seacouver?” Norah finally asked.

“Yes,” Duncan said, appearing in the doorway to the office. His face was a mask of stone and he had something clenched in his hand. “He’s here in Seacouver.” He took a moment to tie the item in his hand around his neck. It was a leather lace, discolored unevenly, with a stone pendent.

“Mac,” Joe said, voice full of sorrow. “Mac, don’t do this. The man is dying. He’s going to meet his maker and get judged.”

Duncan leaned down and kissed Norah on the mouth, skimming his fingers down the side of her face. “I don’t allow those I love to be hurt, Dawson.” And with that, he was gone.

“Shit.” Joe levered himself out of the chair. 

“My car is outside,” Norah offered, wondering when the world had tipped over on its side and spilled out all the things she thought she’d understood.

“At least we know where he’s headed,” Joe said wryly as they drove to the hospital.

Norah dropped Joe off at the entrance, parked, and ran inside. She was breathless when she got there; Joe was waiting at the elevator bank.

“He doesn’t know the room number. Come on, we should beat him there still.” Joe punched a floor button.

Norah nodded tightly, frightened. She didn’t care whether the murdering Hunter lived or died, but this was tearing Duncan apart. Later, when he was no longer filled with grief and hollowness, he would regret killing this man. 

The elevator opened onto the floor, which was a series of long hallways connected by shorter hallways. They started down one of the corridors and halfway down passed a man sitting on a bench outside a closed door. He was reading a magazine, his chin resting against his chest. Norah slowed just a fraction as they passed, certain she knew him, and her brain clicked. “William?”

The man looked up. “Norah! What are you doing here?”

Joe continued down the hall. Norah glanced down the hall, torn between following and finding out if David was seriously ill. “I’m in a hurry, actually,” she said. “I need to find Duncan. David?”

William suddenly looked haggard. “He’s in with the doctor now. They admitted him. It’s…it’s….” He swallowed hard, one hand reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Mina is on her way,” he said, referring to his wife. 

“Oh, William.” Norah gave his free hand a squeeze. “I’m so sorry. I need to find Duncan, but I’ll come back.” She gave another squeeze and continued down the corridor. Joe had stopped outside a doorway further down. He was frowning.

“Joe?”

“He isn’t here. This is his room, but he’s gone. Bastard.” 

“I don’t understand. Duncan has been here?” Norah entered the room, casting about. But it didn’t seem empty. There were things casually strewn about, a glass of water half full and sweating. The room was a double. Norah approached the woman resting in the bed on the other side.

“Excuse me. You wouldn’t happen to know where the other occupant went, do you?”

The woman pulled her attention from the crossword puzzle she was working. “What time is it?” She glanced at the watch on the table next to her paper. “Yeah. He’s down in the chapel. They have a counseling group down there at five thirty every other day. I bet he’ll be up here soon. The meetings don’t go long.”

“Thank you.” Norah turned to look at Joe, who had come into the room and had been listening, and noticed Duncan standing in the doorway. “Duncan!” she cried, but he was already gone, having heard the location.

“Shit!” Joe gritted out and turned to follow. Norah followed Joe into the hallway. “He won’t do anything with people around, Joe.” It sounded logical. It sounded sane. But grief and loss knew very little about sanity and logic. What Duncan would do was anybody’s guess.

As they started down the hallway, Norah looked ahead. She wanted to catch William’s eye and let him know she wasn’t ignoring him, that she would be back, but he was no longer waiting outside the room. David’s door was open now, he was probably inside. 

Duncan was just passing the doorway now.

Suddenly, ahead of her, David appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in hospital scrubs, obviously accustomed enough to frequent hospital visits to want to avoid the breezy hospital gowns. “Duncan?” he asked, although his weak voice didn’t carry far enough to penetrate the sorrow and suffering that Duncan had cloaked himself with. David was thin and looked bruised, his skin almost translucent, like the inside of an oyster shell. Norah felt she could have plotted with a fingertip the web-like network of red and blue blood vessels from heart to extremities and back again. He sagged against the door frame for a moment, obviously looking about for his father and not finding him. A moment later, he’d obviously decided and was following Duncan down the long corridor, his bare feet flapping on the cold floor.

“No! David!” Norah called, but the boy was gone. 

“Shit!” Joe repeated. “Go,” he urged. “I’ll get there as soon as I can. Go.”

Norah nodded and rushed down the hallway. The chapel was on the same floor level, but it was way on the other side of the building. When she got there, a press of people swarmed out, the meeting having obviously been released. She could hear angry voices coming from the interior.

She pushed inside, stumbling to the carpet on an unexpected series of low steps. There was an old man, his hair wispy and white, hooked up to a transportable IV station who was yelling something about abominations. He was just in front of the alter area and he was shouting and snarling at Duncan. Duncan was bellowing at him, pushing things out of his way to get to the old man. 

David was just behind, frozen in mid movement, staring at the scene in front of him. Norah crawled to her feet and started for him. She had to get David out and deal with Duncan. Duncan hadn’t broken the man’s neck yet, so perhaps he would just give vent to his fury and anguish, and let nature take its due course.

“David,” she called, reaching him. “We need to go. This is private business for Duncan.”

David didn’t even turn his head, but scuttled sideways, closer to the action.

The old man caught sight of David and his mouth opened into an astonished O. “You! I killed you! You’re dead.” The man lurched forward, avoiding Duncan’s intercept path. And from nowhere, the old man had a gun – a small, ugly looking pistol the size of a child’s hand. He swung his head back around to Duncan, obviously realizing the larger threat came from him, and fired off two shots, hideously loud in the small space 

“Duncan!” David screamed. 

Norah heard herself screaming, too. Where was the minister? Security? How had the bastard gotten a gun? Duncan had shown her his Immortality before, but with a knife and a thin slice to his hand. Did it really work to fix gunshot wounds?

The old man turned on them again, gun pointed, and an expression of abject hatred and fear on his face.

Norah shook her head and found she was yelling. “No. Don’t. He’s mortal. He’s mortal.”

And suddenly there was a flurry of movement. The gun boomed again. Norah found herself thrown to the floor, landing a meter away. When she looked up, the old man was on the ground, obviously unconscious, or maybe dead. She could only hope he was dead.

She looked at Duncan, who was full of bullet holes, but who seemed less worse for it than she would have thought. Three holes, she counted. He’d taken the last shot. He’d jumped in front of them in time. She felt ridiculously giddy.

David was sprawled on the floor, dazedly looking at Duncan. 

Duncan flicked a look to Norah and she managed to whisper that she wasn’t hurt. Then Duncan was patting the boy down. “Are you hit?” His fingers searched for blood, for holes. “Are you hurt? Please, please. David, say something.”

“Something,” David replied weakly.

“Oh, David,” Duncan said, the utter worry dropping from him for a moment.

“Duncan?” David asked. “I think something is wrong. I don’t feel right. I feel funny.”

“What?” Duncan started probing again, revealing terrible bruises blossoming on David’s arms. “David, what’s going on? What do I do?”

David raised his hand and studied it for a moment. His hand had started to swell slightly, the skin becoming reddened and streaky.

“What do I do?” Duncan asked again, frantic. One hand was on David’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” Duncan slid his arms under David, preparing to scoop the boy into his arms and rush him somewhere, anywhere there was a doctor that could do something.

“Stop,” David batted ineffectually at the arms. “It’s done.” His eyes seemed very glassy, unfocused and delirious. He let out a small breath and closed his eyes. A moment later he opened them again, this time with a strange glint of clarity. “Highlander?”

Duncan had pulled David to him, cradling him, but at the appellation his head snapped up and he locked eyes with the figure in his arms. “Methos?” he whispered.

David reached up with his fingers to touch Duncan’s lips, the act obviously taking all of his strength. “I’d forgotten. I didn’t mean to, but I forgot myself. But I never forgot you.” His voice was almost nothing but thin, brittle air. “No more improvising.”

“Methos.” Duncan was anguished, his voice almost guttural. “Methos. Stay. Don’t die. Methos.”

David closed his eyes and strange words bubbled up from his mouth before he finally went still.

Duncan clutched the body to his chest and wailed his misery and heartache into the small confines of the tiny room that served as the non-denominational chapel.

Later, Norah would recall that it seemed to her as if she were watching a movie of herself doing things. She had to persuade Duncan to finally give up the body. Joe had been in the back for most of the action, having arrived just a minute later than she had. Security, once they had been notified, had done their job efficiently. Nameless medical staff had determined that Mr. George Delgado, which was the old wispy-haired man’s name, was not dead and had whisked him away somewhere. Like a machine on autopilot, she’d given statements to the police and had listened as Duncan gave his own. There wasn’t anything to actually lie about, which made giving statements a lot easier. 

William Gaothaire had been summoned. He’d been down at the gift shop, and had half a dozen magazines clutched in his hand, obviously reading material intended to keep David occupied. Norah watched the police detective place a hand on his shoulder and speak softly into his ear. She watched William’s eyes grow wide and the magazines slip from his hand and flutter to the ground. 

And she remembered that night so very long ago that another police office had come to visit her and place his hand on her shoulder and explain to her about an accident not far away where something terrible had happened.

She shuddered off the memory. If turnips were watches, she thought.

William and Duncan exchanged quiet words at some point, and William didn’t seem to hate him or blame him although there was a terrible emptiness in his eyes that spoke of emotions yet to be realized, and they hugged before parting. Norah didn’t envy him the tasks that would be his in the next few days.

The time slid by, stretching like taffy, away from the crucial, irretrievable moments. Every moment past was one more unchangeable entity. 

Three days later, after returning from laying David to rest in a pretty little plot on the side of a hill, they gathered in their kitchen and drank strong cups of dark coffee. Joe had also attended the ceremony, his eyes as bleak as a northern wind, and had come back with them. Duncan hadn’t said much during the past few days, but today he seemed reflective, able to recall and recount without drowning in his own grief.

“Duncan?” Norah ventured, thinking that Duncan was finally at a point where he could discuss what had happened. “What did he say to you? It wasn’t in English. I couldn’t understand it.” There was no need for further reference. David had been in their thoughts all day.

Duncan gave her one of the softest smiles she had ever seen. “He was speaking in the language I spoke when I was growing up.” He glanced at Joe. “He told me he loved me. And then he told me to live and grow stronger.”

Joe looked shocked. “Fight another day?”

Duncan nodded. “He didn’t finish, but yeah, I bet he was on his way to that part.”

Joe took a long time to take a sip of coffee. Norah wiped at her eyes. She’d already run out of tissues. “So it was him? Methos?” Norah asked.

Duncan nodded slowly. “At the end, when he was dying, I think so. I’d never told David that phrase.” He fiddled with his coffee cup, which was still completely full and was growing cold. “Methos said that to me the first day we’d met. He liked to repeat it a lot.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know he was ill. If I’d known….”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything, Mac,” Joe said gently. “You didn’t even know he followed you in and everything happened too fast. I suppose you could have stopped from knocking him over, but then he’d have taken a bullet.”

“I know. I keep replaying it over and over again, and I haven’t figured out what I could have done. Other than not gone to the hospital in the first place.” Duncan dumped his coffee in the sink and poured a fresh cup.

“He didn’t want you to know, Duncan,” Norah said. She’d had her own guilt and complicity to deal with. She should have told Duncan, should not have allowed herself to make excuses, and let blind happiness overcome proper caution. “He didn’t want you to treat him differently.”

“You know, Mac, it makes sense in a strange way. The disease he had was an immune disease. His body overreacted when hurt. The medications he was on were aimed at keeping his immune system in check.”

“I know,” Duncan said wearily. “Kind of like an Immortal gone a bit haywire. But he wasn’t Immortal, Joe. He was just a child.” Duncan’s voice grew hoarse. “And I can only hope that maybe this time around he got to enjoy childhood.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Joe said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo. He slid it across the table. “I’ve been meaning to show you this. When Norah and I were talking, she made me realize something and I had our people do a little research. You know that we keep tabs on foundlings, right? Most of them are just poor unfortunate kids, but every once in a while we pick up on a pre-immortal.”

“What are you driving at, Joe?” Duncan reached across the counter and picked up the photo, staring at it with a frown on his face. “What is this?”

“That’s Daniel Shaydeur. He’s ten and very, very bright. I hear he’s the chess champion for his grade level.”

Norah leaned over and glanced at the picture. It was a scruffy looking kid, with big ears and icy blue-grey eyes. His hair was ruffled, but it looked like a kindly face, and the child would definitely be handsome when he grew up.

“It doesn’t make sense. Darius died twenty five years ago. David was fifteen.”

Joe took another very long sip of coffee and Norah made sure to rummage around for something in a drawer until everyone had their composure again. “Yeah. And maybe Methos was an impatient SOB and didn’t want to wait. All accounts say that Daniel is in the peak of health.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, Joe. I’d have seen this before. Other Immortals would have seen this before. They look just like them.”

“Think, MacLeod. What was different about Darius’ and Methos’ deaths from the others?”

“Holy ground.” Duncan’s voice was like that of granite and his face was drawn.

“Yeah. Mortals. And no one was close enough to absorb the Quickening. Norah asked me where it went and damned if I know. Darius was two thousand years old. Methos was over twice that. We both went to that church. Not much out of place.”

“Yes,” Duncan said slowly, remembering. “Darius’ church looked as though there had been a struggle. But, nothing was burnt. Nothing had exploded.”

“And here. Methos should have taken out the entire electrical grid of this city. If they went gently into that dark night, then maybe it wasn’t because they were lost.”

“But I’ve lost him now,” Duncan dumped his coffee out again and dropped the mug into the sink where it shattered into several pieces. “He wasn’t Immortal. He didn’t have a Quickening.”

“But it was holy ground,” Norah protested, seeing Duncan clutch at the counter.

Both Joe and Duncan stared at her. “She’s got a point, Mac. There’s not a lot of information out there about the effects of holy ground.”

Duncan was suddenly smiling. “Yeah. That little chapel. It was, wasn’t it?” He looked back down at the photo. “I think we’ll need to keep an eye on the foundlings in this city.”

Joe tapped the photo. “Hopefully he’ll have the good sense to wait until it’s the right time. Stubborn bastard.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Joe.”


End file.
